Glorious Rivals(26)

“Lyra?”

She kept her gaze focused ahead—on the water. There’s something out there. Someone. “You’re going to think I’m ridiculous.” Frustrated with herself, Lyra pushed a hand back through her hair.

“Try me.”

“Just now… I felt something.” Lyra turned her head to look at him and realized that he’d positioned himself just a little bit ahead of her—half in darkness, half in light.

“What kind of something?” he asked. Holding that longsword, a line of shadow down the center of his face, Grayson Hawthorne looked more than human.

“It’s nothing,” Lyra told him.

“What kind of nothing?” Grayson amended his question very slightly, but his intonation didn’t change.

Lyra shook her head, but she answered all the same. “Like someone was watching.” Was, she realized. Past tense. The feeling was gone.

With a curt nod, Grayson drove the sword in his hand into rocky sand, let go of the hilt, and tapped the face of his watch.

“What are you doing?” Lyra demanded.

“Sending a message. It won’t hurt for my brothers and Avery to have security do a boat run on the perimeter of the island, just in case.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Lyra insisted. She didn’t want to be coddled by anyone, let alone him. “If someone is watching us, it’s probably just another player.”

“Perhaps,” Grayson acknowledged. “But you felt something out there.” He nodded toward the water. “And Hawthornes are raised to treat our instincts like a very close ally. Trust—but verify.” Message to the game makers sent, he lowered his hands to his sides.

Without warning, the light on the helipad behind them went out.

Motion sensors, Lyra told herself. In near-total darkness, she shifted her weight. Grayson must have done the same, because their shoulders brushed. A shiver went through Lyra—and not an entirely unpleasant one this time.

Beside her, she heard the unmistakable sound of Grayson unzipping his jacket.

Lyra narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even think about it, Hawthorne.”

“One of these days,” Grayson said beside her in the dark, “you are going to let me give you my jacket.”

For now, Lyra’s body contented itself with the feeling of his shoulder against hers. “We should get back to the game,” she said. “We’ve wasted enough time.”

As if the universe was agreeing with her, the light on the helipad behind them turned back on. Motion sensors, Lyra reminded herself. We have company. She whirled to see who, but her gaze caught on a cluster of large rocks off to one side. On top of one of those rocks, she saw something. White and green.

Feeling like she was walking through a dream—bare feet on pavement—Lyra made her way slowly forward. She stared down at the flower, then watched as if from a great distance as her own hand picked it up.

A calla lily.

Chapter 24

GRAYSON

The instant Grayson realized what Lyra was holding, he reclaimed their longsword and went to her, his gaze trained on the person who’d set off the motion detectors on the helipad: Brady Daniels. Holding his longsword. Crossing to the bull’s-eye.

Grayson laid his free hand on the back of Lyra’s neck. “Are you with me?”

“I’m fine.”

She wasn’t, Grayson knew, but some people didn’t know how to be anything else. First the notes with her father’s names. Now the flower. Someone was playing mind games with her—extremely personal ones.

Up on the helipad, Brady planted his sword in the metal slit, driving it in up to its hilt. Soon enough, he held the ledger in his hand.

“Stay behind me,” Grayson told Lyra, as he leapt back up onto the helipad. Lyra didn’t argue, a clear sign, as she fell in behind him, that she was fighting the undertow of memory.

“Do you think it was him?” Lyra asked, her voice muted. “Watching us.”

And the lily? Grayson was not yet ready to make a determination on either of those fronts, but he had no regrets whatsoever about alerting his brothers and Avery to a potential perimeter breach. Hopefully, they would act quickly and either identify or rule out a third-party presence. In the meantime…

Grayson tracked Brady’s movements. Physical intimidation was not, as a general rule, a favored maneuver in the Hawthorne playbook, but Grayson was willing to entertain the idea of making an exception. He strode across the helipad toward Brady, stopping just three feet away from his target and saying nothing.

“Grayson Hawthorne.” Brady’s voice was deep, but his tone was mild. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“A useful thing,” Grayson said crisply. “A reputation. What, I wonder, is yours?”

“I’m the scholar.”

“What kind of game are you playing, scholar?”

Seemingly unbothered, Brady pressed his watch to the ledger. “The same game as everyone else.”

“I doubt that very much.” Grayson had always excelled at fighting calm with calm. “Tell me that you don’t have a sponsor, Mr. Daniels,” Grayson suggested, just enough silk in his tone. “Tell me that the only game you’re playing is one with clues.”

Brady told him nothing and walked to the compartment he’d just revealed, removing from it the charm and the bracelet. He listened to the recorded hint, and it took him all of two seconds to drop his key into the liquid.